Untitled

You, my dear, are nothing special.

No more significant than the dust

On your unread books. 

 

No more important than the stale 

Ambition in your eyes,

Or the grey clouds in the sky.

 

As dull as an overused poolstick 

And as worthless as a plastic toy;

Absolutely unnecessary.

 

You, dollface, are nothing extraordinary.

As plain as jane gets and as emtpy

As the bottle under your bed. 

 

As irrelevant as an encyclopedia

From the mid 70s.

Full of inaccuracies and faults. 

 

That's all this is really about,

Because at the end of the day

You mean about as much as 

A Canadian coin in Mexico. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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